


I’m Far to Comfortable This Time

by theinsaneeraser



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Slavery, Blow Jobs, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slavery, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-10
Updated: 2011-05-10
Packaged: 2017-10-19 05:28:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/197421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theinsaneeraser/pseuds/theinsaneeraser
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a Universe where Lucifer was never cast down, and humans are enslaved, some some of them hide away in the forests. Dean Winchester is one of those humans, until he's caught and given the mark of a slave, and eventually an owned one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I’m Far to Comfortable This Time

**Author's Note:**

> Part one of 25, I'm pretty sure, there will be equal parts for Dean/Lucifer/Michael and Cas/Gabe/Sam. with this one Dean/Uriel and one Anna/Young!Mary. I own nothing~ Unfortunately.
> 
> This is written for my Citrus_Table (Kink Table) Over on LJ!

Dean had thought he’d made it out.

He and Sam had been salvaging some food for their group – they were almost out – when they’d been attacked. Dean had shoved Sam into a bush, hopefully to hide the overly-large human, and fought for his life against the trappers. It was futile though, they were angels and he was just a human, without a weapon or back-up, he was screwed. He’d felt them lock the iron shackles on his wrists and then a blow to the back of the head had knocked him out.

As long as Sam was alright, Dean didn’t care what happened to him.

 

Dean struggled as he was forced into the room. He had been stripped down and put through a shower that was so cold Dean had lost feeling in most of his fingers and toes. His head was bowed from the pressure of a hand forcing it that way and he stumbled as he was shoved onto a stone table-thing. It was skinny, barely really held him in place, but there was parts of it that extended out for his arms, which were now shackled in place.

Once the same had been done with his legs, the angels or foot solders or whoever the fuck they were, left. Dean tugged at his arms. He was good at picking locks but from this position he couldn’t do it. He cursed heavily and looked around the room. It was blank, just plain stone walls with nothing but the light overhead; nothing for a weapon, nothing to help him escape. There were only two doors, the one he came in and the one that was opening now.

He raised an eyebrow as a woman walked in. She had long, flowing vibrant red hair and green eyes to match his own. She wore the usual white robes of an angel, but the cuffs, hem and neck had a thick strip of purple along it, meaning she was someone important. Not at the top like the archangels, whore wore golden robes with red strips, but she obviously had an important job.

She walked with Grace as most angels did, and when she flicked her wrist a chair – tall – appeared next to the table. She took a seat and flicked her wrist once more, the stone extension his arms were attached to growing out a little and making a small space for her to place her… paint? Ink? He hadn’t seen her walk in with it, but she had probably conjured it when she had made the space for it.

She didn’t speak – Angels hardly ever conversed with humans – and picked up a paintbrush; only it wasn’t like any paintbrush he had seen before. It was made with bristles but it came to a fine point, like a blade, and Dean had a sinking feeling he knew what her job was.

Some of the runaway slaves he’d encountered had had tattoos on their back, all of them had at least the same base, a tribal-looking vine with thorns wrapping itself around a heart. The meaning of which was that you were a slave. When a slave was bought, that angel would use their grace and blood, mixed with ink, to make a tattoo around it. You could tell how many times a slave had been bought because the skin would have to be rubbed raw with a metal brush before being soaked in holy water to stop the mark from coming back.

The tattoo depended on the angel the human belonged too; it marked them as that angel’s property, so no one went mistaking one for another. That Grace would also bind that human with that angel. If they tried to flee, it would paralyze them; if they disobeyed their “master,” it would send pain right into the nerves of their spine; and if they ever picked up a weapon or tried to harm the angel they were bound to… it would kill them, slowly and painfully.

Dean struggled.

A hand on the small of his back stilled him momentarily as he tried to get a read of the redhead’s face, but it was an emotionless mask, like most angels. He watched her dip the brush into the red ink-paint something or other before he felt it between his shoulder-blades. He arched a little, letting out a hiss, but the hand on the small of his back pressed him down flat. The brushed moved upwards, cutting into his skin, and then downwards in an arch.

Dean bit back a groan and closed his eyes tightly as the brush lifted for a moment before returning to his skin. It was gentle though, the artful strokes of a true artist, and Dean remembered Adam and his paintings then; they way he looked at the paper, the way he described it. Dean wondered if that was what this angel thought of his back. He moaned a little in pain when she started to fill in the heart – he was sure she was working on the heart first –before it was once again gone.

When it returned this time, it started on his shoulder-blades and it was the small tribal-like barbs that surrounded the heart, and this one hurt more then the first, hitting bone and fuck, they did this to _kids_. He tried to arch his back again when she pushed a little deeper but that soft hand still held him in place, keeping him still before it was gone and then, so was the brush.

Then there was the soft caress of something warm and the pain was gone. He could no longer feel his blood bubbling up to meet the ink.

He watched her get up, taking her ink with her. She spared a look at him, something strange in her eyes, before she left the room as gracefully as she had arrived. He licked his lips and rested his head against the cold table, waiting. When no one came for him right away, he wondered if they would leave him here, forget about him until they brought in someone new. That could be days. Truth was, Dean did not look forward to meeting the trainers because if what he’d heard about them was true, he was so screwed.

Unfortunately a few hours – maybe minutes? – passed and someone came in. He had fluffy black hair that reminded Dean of Sam when he was little, and piercing blue eyes. He also wore the white robes of angels, and had a very thin blue – almost sliver – line around the hem, neck and cuffs of them. He wasn’t anyone important, at least in the eye of angels; he was a slave carer. He was the one who made sure slaves didn’t die in captivity, that they stayed as mark-free as possible for better selling.

Dean watched as he walked around, unshackling him and gently gripped his wrists, pulling him off the table. His head was bowed as he worked, like he was scared someone was watching him, and he didn’t want to disappoint them. Dean raised an eyebrow and tugged, wondering if the angel would falter, but his grip was like stone, even if it was gentle and Dean knew he was just as strong as any of the others; even if he was scrawny.

Dean allowed him to lead him from the room, the one he’d come in, which led to a row of doors. Dean struggled a little as the angel walked him down the hallway, but the angel didn’t even seem bothered. Dean cursed, colourfully, wondering if that would get a reaction from him. Instead, it got him a head tilt and then the angel opened a door.

It led to a small room that had no windows but did have a single bed, toilet and a sink. The bed was of straw and situated on the floor with a single blanket for warmth. He wrinkled his nose – not that he hadn’t slept on worse – before grunting as he was pushed onto his ass. The angel looked him over, grabbing his face and tilting it right, then left, then up and the down.

“Does anything hurt? Do you have any illness, or sores or such?” he asked in a gravely voice that did not fit his body type.

Dean was temporarily stunned before forcing out a short, “No.” The angel nodded and then pushed him onto his back as he poked and prodded at his back. “No broken bones either…” Dean rolled his eyes before relaxing as the hands left him. He turned his head again to watch as he walked over to the sink and ran the water, seemingly checking it before nodding in approval and then turned to stare at him.

“I will bring you food twice a day, once in the morning for breakfast and once at night for dinner. I will bring you out to the back yard for exercise once a day, for twenty minuets. Depending on how well you behave, and how long your stay here is, I can maybe try and extend that time.” The angel tilts his head. “Do you understand?”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it, My whole life revolves around your will, if I do little favours my stay here can be good, blah, blah, blah, not happening bucko.” Dean glared at him and pushed himself up, almost missing the hardened look on the angel’s face before it smoothed out again to the emotionless mask. Dean raised an eyebrow, had he gotten a rise out of him?

And just like that, he was alone.

Dean sighed and tried to look over his shoulder, trying to view the mark but it was useless. He cursed and looked around the room instead, trying to see if there was something he could use for escaper or to defend himself, but it was squeaky clean. Next, he checked the door but it was unmovable, like it was welded shut and for all he knew, it could be. He cursed and looked around his small space.

He was going to go mad in here.

He sat down on the bed and rubbed at his face, suddenly very tired. He laid out on his stomach – unsure if sleeping on his back was a good idea at the moment – and closed his eyes; he didn’t even have a damn pillow. He grabbed the rough, uncomfortable blanket that grated at his skin, and pulled it over himself. He wondered if it would get cold in a room with no windows, bu he wasn’t about to chance it. Besides, he was still a little cold from the shower and anything to hide his naked body was good enough for him.

It took him a while, the soundlessness of the small room was unsettling, but eventually he fell into a fitful sleep; he just hoped Sam was okay.

 

Dean woke up to the flutter of wings. He opened his eyes blearily and saw feet, and a robe, and that small thin-sliver of blue, and he instantly knew who it was. He moved into a sitting potion as a copper plate was placed in front of him. He looked it over – some sort of gruel, some vegetables and a sliver of meat – before looking up, just in time to see blue-eyes disappear. He sighed and moved the plate into his lap, using the meat and vegetables to force the gruel down his throat.

He finished it quickly, being hungrier then he thought, before shoving the copper plate off to the corner of the room, hoping that maybe they’d forget about it, and he’d be left something to use. His hopes were dashed when the plate disappeared and he cursed, falling back against the straw, wincing as it pulled at the skin of his back. He sat back up and rubbed at the small of his back, not daring to touch the tattoo, and waited.

He didn’t have to wait long before there was the flutter of wings again, and a new angel appeared in the room.

He was tall, black and bald. He was a little thick around the stomach, but the white-robes covered it well. Dean ground his teeth at the black strip around the neck, hem and cuffs that marked him as a trainer and pressed his back against the wall as the angel looked him over.

Dean wouldn’t ever admit it out loud but the way the angel raked his eyes over his naked body unnerved him. He licked his lips and tried to stare as defiantly at the angel before him. This earned him a backhanded slap so hard his jaw rattled. Dean cursed and then groaned as that earned him a second backhand. The angel didn’t speak, didn’t say anything, just crouched down and grabbed his jaw, looking him over before chuckling.

“You are going to be fun to break,” He said before getting to his feet again. He walked over to the corner and pointed at the spot on the ground by his feet. “Come here, human,” he ordered and Dean just stared at him. “Do not make me come over there and get you.” Dean didn’t move and the angel crossed the room in two steps.

Dean growled as the angel grabbed his hair and dragged him over to the spot, forcing him on his knees and yanking his head back so their eyes could meet. “We sell to a variety of cliental here, so tell me human, do you suck cock?” It was spoken so casually, so wordlessly that Dean blinked and answered with a surprised, “No.” before he really had the chance to realise what was being said.

The angel let go of his hair and gripped his chin, just as the angel from before – blue-eyes – appeared in the room.

“Uriel…” blue-eyes stopped and then continued, but in another language, one that Dean knew was Enochian. This didn’t help him figure out what he was saying; that was Sam’s specialty, the nerd.

“It will have to wait, Castiel,” Uriel answered in plain English and Castiel opened his mouth but then closed it and nodded, chancing a look at Dean before disappearing.

Dean had names now, not that they did him any good, but at least there was something to go along with the faces. If Sam had been here, he’d have been able to tell Dean what their purpose was and what there names meant, but thankfully he wasn’t, he was somewhere safe, away from all this. Dean kind of wished he was there too but he didn’t regret selling himself out for Sam, so that Sam had a chance to be safe; he just hoped he didn’t pull anything stupid.

His attention was back on the room as Uriel lifted his robes, revealing a thick, long cock and Jesus fucking _Christ_ , did he expect Dean to put _that_ in his mouth? He’d choke. Dean looked up at him with an unamused face before grunting as his hair was gripped again, tugging him forward. He closed his eyes as he head slid across his cheek and pressed into his forehead before gripping Uriel’s thighs as the head was pressed against his lips.

“Open up human, or you will not like the alternative,” Uriel growled and Dean stared defiantly at him before yelping as fingers dug into his back. Without the second part of the tattoo, Dean could defy Uriel without consequences, or at least he’d thought. He should have known that this was coming but all he could focus on was the cock that was suddenly shoved into his open mouth. “Now, I’m going to instruct you on how to do this properly.”

Dean choked a little and tightened his fingers on Uriel’s thighs, trying to pay attention. He wanted this over as soon as possible, the salty taste of pre-cum making his stomach a little queasy.

“Now, you’re going to take me down completely,” Uriel demanded and Dean choked just at the thought of it. He wasn’t given a choice as Uriel used his grip on his hair to force himself in completely. Dean choked more, his eyes a little wide as he dug his nails into his thighs. “Bob your head and breath through your nose. You’re pretty for a human, you’ll sell good, so I do not wish to kill you; Raphael would be upset.”

Dean choked for a few more seconds before pulling his head back, breathing through his nose and then taking him back in again,. It was slow and he wasn’t taking him in as far as he had before, but the tightened grip in his hair told him he was doing okay.

“Good, now run your tongue up the shaft, and around the head. I’m pretty sure you’ve been given a blow-job. A human like you, probably many.”

It was true, he had been, but fuck if he was actually going to _try_ to give this fucker a good blow-job. He closed his eyes tightly and dragged his tongue over the shaft and shuddered when he dragged it over the head. It was a lousy blow-job, but the bastard never said he had to be good.

“Suck, hollow out your cheeks, if you can’t do it right, I’ll have to drive the point into you and disobedience will not be tolerated.” Uriel grabbed his hair again, shoving himself in further to prove the point and Dean did as he was told. If it wasn’t for the cock down his throat, he wouldn’t be “behaving” but he’d rather just get this over and done with. He hallowed out his cheeks and bobbed his head a little faster.

Uriel moaned above him and Dean couldn’t help the smug smirk that crept up on his lips.

Dean choked again when Uriel thrusted into his mouth and he fought now to gag. He pulled his head back to suck on the tip, not to pleasure Uriel, but to give himself a break before bobbing his head again; faster. He wanted this over and done with, so the quicker he went, the sooner Uriel would hopefully leave.

Dean quickly learned though that Angels had _stamina_. Uriel would thrust into his mouth with a moan or jerk his hips, or grip his hair, but he didn’t seem close to coming. Dean gripped his thighs tighter as Uriel thrust into his throat and Dean gagged that time. Uriel didn’t pull out though, he held himself there and Dean sucked in panicked breaths through his nose before Uriel barked a command. “Swallow.”

Dean did and Uriel let out a soft cry. Dean gagged again as warm, thick come filled the back of his throat as Uriel came, trying to push deeper and he was ready to spit it out, but Uriel _still_ didn’t pull out. Dean knew what that meant but he was defiant, he wouldn’t swallow, no he’d wait. It was only when the taste of come on his tongue became a little too unbearable that Dean finally swallowed, choking on it as Uriel slipped his now-flaccid, cock from Dean’s mouth.

Dean panted heavily, glaring up at Uriel, wincing when he was backhanded, landing on his ass before Uriel lowered his robes. He walked away from Dean and with the sound of feather’s he was gone. Dean forced himself up on his legs, making his way back over to the straw-bed before falling back onto it, closing his eyes. There was another flutter off wings and Dean didn’t have to look to know it was Castiel.

He felt a press of fingers on his cheeks and he opened his eyes, his green ones meeting deep-blue and it unsettled him how he’d just stare at him. There was warmth to the touch and the pain in his cheeks disappeared.

“Your name’s Castiel, right?” Dean asked as the angel checked him over. He didn’t say anything, or seem surprised; instead he stood up and held out a hand. “What?”

“It is time for your exercise.” He spoke softly and Dean closes his eyes. “This is not negotiable, I healed any pain or discomfort you may have been in. Trust me, it will get worse. Take pleasure in knowing Uriel allowed me to heal you and that you can walk.”

Dean eyed him before taking his hand. He was yanked to his feet with a grunt before they were gone. It was weird, moving by flight, but one minute they were inside some crappy place, the next they were outside. Dean looked around, and the place was mostly empty aside from a few other slaves and the people looking in. There was a fence that separated them from the outside world but it would stand to figure that angels would want to watch the slaves run around, get a good view; see who was worth buying.

Dean closed his eyes and sighed; he was not looking forward to his future.


End file.
